


Shake What's Left of Me Loose

by back2beesness



Category: All For The Game - Nora Sakavic
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Music, F/F, I have feelings, Los Angeles, M/M, Multi, Music AU, Music Writing AU, Slow Burn, TFC, aftg, and a lot of songs that remind me of them, and give him a lot of great friends because he deserves it, basically i have a really long aftg playlist and i need something to do with it, i mess with neil's past a bit, it gets to mostly andreil territory after a while but he works with all of them, neil is a songwriter and he works with the foxes who are musicians, softer than canon
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-27
Updated: 2020-08-31
Packaged: 2021-03-05 21:28:27
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 18,638
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25542115
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/back2beesness/pseuds/back2beesness
Summary: Neil Josten hasn't been a real person very long. LA was supposed to be his new start. But after getting driven to ground soon upon his arrival, he finds himself behind the scenes of the music industry instead of in the spotlight. As one of LA's most in demand songwriters, he's worked with some of the biggest names in the industry. But it isn't until he gets asked to work for Foxhole Records that he feels like he's really made it. As Neil writes songs for the Foxes, he finds himself becoming part of their world, and falling for the sense of home they provide him. And maybe falling for one of them too.
Relationships: Abby Winfield/David Wymack, Allison Reynolds/Renee Walker (All For The Game), Allison Reynolds/Seth Gordon (past), Alvarez/Laila Dermott, Jeremy Knox/Jean Moreau, Katelyn/Aaron Minyard, Kevin Day/Thea Muldani, Matt Boyd/Danielle "Dan" Wilds, Neil Josten/Andrew Minyard, Nicky Hemmick/Erik Klose
Comments: 14
Kudos: 69





	1. More to Hold On To

**Author's Note:**

> So this is pretty self-indulgent, but I'm not really sorry about it. Apologies in advance, I'm an east coast gal, so don't take anything I saw about LA seriously. This was pretty much born out of the massive tfc playlist I've been compiling for years, so prepare for a lot of song recs. All the chapter titles are from songs off that list, so feel free to check those out too. Also, the title is a lyric from Neptune by Sleeping at Last, which is a pretty great Neil song btw.

When Neil woke up to the California sun shining directly in his eyes, he wondered for a moment why he’d even bothered moving to LA. It was something he pondered occasionally, usually when the weather got above thirty-five degrees, the concrete shimmering in the heat, or when he had to take an Uber around the city and was stuck on the same street for over twenty minutes. They were small complaints though, in the grand scheme of things. It was certainly better than anywhere Neil had lived before, not that there was anywhere else that he didn’t have deep rooted trauma tied too.

But the sunlight here was both a gift and a curse. After years spent in London’s familiar gloom, sometimes he found it to be glaring and more irritating than anything else. Sometimes, though, Neil would wake up and pad, feet bare, over to the giant window in the living room of his apartment to collapse on the sun-warmed hardwood floor with his morning cup of tea to just sit, for a moment. He wasn’t entirely sure where he stood on his relationship with the city most days, but he didn’t let himself think about it too long. If he lingered on the thought he might end up getting philosophical, and that was a particularly quick road to Hell for him.

Neil sat up quickly today, turning away from the light and shuffling towards his closet. He’d never really understood people who struggled to get out of bed. He’d always been able to just get up and go, getting dressed, eating breakfast, and making it out the door all in under twenty minutes most days. His insomnia struck in the early hours of the morning too, so he was often up long before his alarm went off anyways.

Today was no different, and he walked towards his too big closet to choose an outfit. He didn’t understand the preoccupation of Californian realtors with closet space, but he supposed most people buying apartments in LA would actually give a shit about stuff like that. His had been mostly empty for months after he moved in, until Jeremy became wise about the situation and sicced his boyfriend Jean on Neil to “fix” his wardrobe situation. Or, not fix. The exact phrase he had used was “Queer Eyeing it.” Neil didn’t really get the reference, but Jean seemed to know what he meant by it given how easily he took to the task. Now Neil’s closet was full of basic slacks, some of the more adventurous ones with stripes, as well as high quality, basic tops and a few blazers. Jean had explained impatiently to him that pretty much everything in Neil’s wardrobe went together, since it was almost exclusively coordinating colors and clean lines. He’d huffily told Neil that he would have to try really hard to get picking out clothes wrong, but if he ever doubted that something went together, he should text a photo of it to Sara, who was consistently on her phone, before going out. 

He pulled out a pair of navy slacks, tucked in a white t-shirt, and pulled on the surprisingly comfortable grey Oxfords in the bottom of his closet. Jeremy had complimented him on the choice before so he knew it was a safe bet. His friends had insisted on buying him new outfits once they’d seen what Jean had done, so he also had a whole separate section of his rack set aside for matching sets. Sara had begrudgingly accepted that Jean had put together a good basic set of clothes, but insisted that Neil have outfits for different occasions, like clubbing, fancy parties, nights on the town, and casual hangouts. Neil didn’t have the heart to tell her she had vastly overestimated his social life. She’d picked up pretty quickly that all these clothes were a fairly intimidating concept to Neil, so she, along with Jeremy and Laila, had stuck to gifting him full outfits that completely went together so that he didn’t have to worry about mixing and matching different pieces. If they got bored of those, then one of them would start rearranging certain items to make new sets, and so on and so forth so that they were essentially using him to play dress up before group outings. When Neil had pointed this out, Jeremy had just shrugged, not looking at all embarrassed, and told Neil that he had a very specific style, and that it was nice to use someone else to try out new looks.

In the long run, Neil appreciated it. It was one less thing for him to worry about in the morning, and he’d take what he could get in that department. On his way out the door, he grabbed an apple and filled a travel mug with English Breakfast to take to work with him, since he knew he’d end up eating in his car anyways.

Sara had pointed out to him on multiple occasions that since he was essentially his own boss, there was no need for him to come into work so early, but he really didn’t have anything else to do and was likely up anyways, so this fact did little to stop him. Sara was well known for rolling up late to work, bleary eyed and occasionally hungover, so she thought he was absolutely mad. She could get away with it though, given that she owned the floor Neil rented his studio out of, and her job at the front desk was really more of a formality than anything else. Neil also had a feeling that she just wanted something to do all day, not to mention that, as she put it, her renters were “her family, except Jonathan in 3E, who’s a total bastard who was late on his payment four times last year without even an apology.” Neil was fairly sure that was why she loved him and Jeremy so much. In fact, he was certain, since she’d told him a few months into their friendship that she kept approaching him since he’d never been late for rent once and she wanted to keep on his good side. Jeremy, on the other hand, had been late once or twice in his long tenure on her floor, but made up for it with his heavenly baked goods so Sara loved him nonetheless.

When Neil had first moved to LA, he’d been idealistic. He was under no delusions about his talent, so he’d thought he’d make it big, or if not, just make it, soon after his arrival. He’d been somewhat right. Within the first two months he’d been offered a contract with the Moriyama Music Group. But after spending a few days pouring over his ironclad contract agreement, he turned them down. There were clauses he just wasn’t comfortable with, things about what he could or couldn’t say or do, as well as the fact that they kept the rights to all music he made with them even if he terminated his contract and that he could never regain those rights no matter what. That was a clause that was carefully hidden in the document, buried under pages of mundanities and so difficult to find that it couldn’t have been put there for any other reason than to keep it from potential contract signers.

A year later the news broke about Kevin Day and Riko Moriyama, the company’s biggest hit duo, breaking up. The news said it was due to an injury sustained by Kevin, with no explanation given for the accident’s nature, something Neil found instantly suspicious. Months later, when Kevin started making it big with his new record label, Foxhole Records, a bigger story made the headlines: Riko Moriyama had committed suicide following what the news called a “blacklisting” of him at his label. The whole situation stunk to Neil, but when he brought it up at work his friends all told him he was being ridiculous. It was probably the mobster’s son in him, but it sounded fishy. Kevin and Riko had been a famous, well-established duo, known for main singer Riko and backup vocalist/guitarist Kevin. There had been a time when interviews and speculation had reached a fever pitch suggesting that between the two, Kevin was really the more talented and Riko was just a diva who insisted on taking the spotlight. Kevin’s injury happened less than a month after. It was too much of a coincidence for Neil, and for some members of the press as well, but Kevin never confirmed nor denied any allegations of abuse from Riko and the Moriyama Group, so it didn’t really go anywhere. The whole incident served, if nothing else, to make Neil extremely sure of his correct choice in not signing with them.

After turning down that contract, he’d expected to be offered something from other labels. The biggest name in music wanted him; someone else had to as well. Apparently, he underestimated the influence the Moriyamas had, since no other company reached out or was willing to work with him after he turned down that first contract. Rather than give up entirely, Neil came up with a different solution. Ghost-writing. He’d always wanted to write and perform his own music; if no one was willing to let him do that, then he’d just write for others. It was better than nothing, and no one would look twice at him using an alias, something that was extremely useful for Neil’s situation. They couldn’t blacklist him if he was using a different name.

It was a slow start. Neil knew he was talented, but getting started without any representation was difficult no matter what. He started renting a studio to work out of from a woman named Sara Alvarez, who, after he paid his first month’s rent, led him to what would become his second home for the foreseeable future, room 3B. Down the hall, she told him, was famous producer Jeremy Knox, best known for his collaborations with former Moriyama owned DJ Jean Moreau. 

After a while though, Neil started to get some steady clients. At first it was just beginning bands or solo artists trying to make a name for themselves, but after some time, and a lot of word of mouth, Neil’s clients started getting increasingly more famous. Within six months he had written for some of the most famous names in the music industry, all under his pseudonym, N.A. It had been Sara’s idea. He’d confessed to her early on that he was struggling to come up with a fake name. She asked what his initials were, and when he told her, she was thrilled to find out that his middle name started with an A. When Neil asked her why, she had just rolled her eyes playfully.

“Neil A. You know, N.A. Like ‘not available’ or ‘not applicable.’ I’m a genius, aren’t I? To be fair though, I also just saw something really similar in this book I was reading the other day by Agatha Christie. There’s a character called U.N. Owen, which is like a play on words for ‘unknown.’”

Neil had just shrugged and gone with it. It wasn’t like he had any better ideas. He’d been considering going with Abram, given how many artists used their middle names, but the idea of sharing that particular truth about himself with the world made his throat start to close up, so he had quickly dismissed the idea.

By now, Neil was usually working on a few songs at a time, writing lyrics, arrangements, and providing a preliminary backing for the artist for a hefty fee. He made it pretty clear in the email he sent to first-time clients what exactly he did, and how much it cost. It was from an address he’d jerry-rigged to make pretty much untraceable back to himself. He offered clients an option of either co-writing or ghostwriting. He purposefully made co-writing sound like a fairly arduous process in the explanation so that hardly anyone chose that path. In reality, it was. He didn’t like co-writing without true honesty from his clients, and equal work. He refused to let artists throw in a few lyrics and let him do the rest. It had to be an equal collaboration where they both put in the work, and he made that clear from the get-go. There were less than ten artists who had chosen that option. Neil also found it pretty difficult to share the creative process with anyone. The combination of the higher charge and the increased work required from the client meant that next to no one chose that unless they were serious about having a part in the creation of the song. Usually, it was only people who wanted a very specific song and didn’t entirely trust him to deliver. The rest were fine with giving Neil a vague description and letting him go to town, as he did for the pure ghostwriting option.

It meant that he wrote a wide variety of songs, with few actually being what he’d consider his best work, but he kept churning out hits about late nights and dance floors and heartache for whoever was willing to pay, and it was treating him well so far.

When he came up the elevator to the third floor that morning, Sara was leaning over her desk to see who it was coming out of the nearby elevator bank, and practically jumped out of her rolling chair at the sight of him.  
“Neil! Thank god you’re here, I have something awesome to tell you.”

Neil raised his eyebrows. What was awesome to Sara was rarely what he would consider awesome.

She kept going despite his unenthused silence. “We’re throwing a fundraiser this weekend for some studio upgrades on our floor. Some of the folks were going to perform and we were going to charge for admission…” She trailed off. “I don’t suppose I could convince you to perform, could I?” She turned her best puppy dog eyes towards him.

Neil sighed. “Sara, you know I don’t really do performances.”

“Not even for your best friend?”

“I thought Laila was your best friend.”

“She’s my girlfriend, it’s not the same.”

“What about Jeremy?”

“I can have more than one best friend Neil! Plus, he’s a producer not a performer. Stop dodging the question. Will you or won’t you?”

“I can’t Sara, I’m sorry.” He still had some paranoia to shake about stepping into the spotlight. Not that anyone here would recognize him anyways, but his anxiety was difficult to completely shut down. God knows why he ever thought he could be a real star.

She huffed defeatedly. “Alright. But will you at least come? For a little while?”

“Fine, yes, I’ll come.” Neil always had trouble saying no to her face, especially when she was so excited. Plus the event would probably benefit him in the long run anyways, not that he needed that bonus to help out a friend.

She perked up immediately. “Awesome! It’s this Friday from six to ten.”

Neil narrowed his eyes. “You weren’t actually expecting me to agree to perform, were you? You were just doing that thing where you ask me for something impossibly big and then tone it down to something only marginally big so that I agree to it, weren’t you?”

Sara’s grin grew wider. “A magician never reveals her secrets.”

“Whatever,” he called over his shoulder, “I’ll wear something Jeremy chose then.”

“Traitor!” she yelled after him fondly. “See you there babe!”

Neil still wasn’t entirely used to having friends. Sara had basically just picked him up in the studio lobby and kept him, and everyone else he made friends with through her. Her girlfriend Laila was Neil’s closest friend, Sara’s friend from college Thea had been a client of Neil’s he’d only gotten through that particular style of nepotism, and Jeremy and Jean had only become a part of his life due to less than subtle nudges from Sara for him to join them all for drinks after work. She was the kind of friend that texted him for every get together, even knowing he was an introvert and wouldn’t come to most of them. She never asked for an apology, took way too many pictures with him when he finally did go out, and never made him feel left out even when they went places and did things without him. She’d turned his life in LA into a real life, the kind he’d never had before, and Neil didn’t know where he’d be without her, or Laila for that matter.

It hadn’t always been this good though. The first time he’d skipped an event Sara invited him out to, she’d come to confront him the next day at work, eyebrows scrunched up in disappointment.

“Neil,” she’d demanded, “if you don’t actually like me, you have to tell me, like now.”

“I, uh,” Neil had responded, flabbergasted, “I think you’re great Sara, but I’m not interested in you like that…”

She’d just rolled her eyes. “Not like that. I’m a giant lesbian, dumbass. I just meant, if you don’t want to be friends with me, let me know, and I’ll quit bothering you to do stuff with me. It’s totally fine, we can keep this all professional if you want.”  
Neil swallowed. “No, it’s not that. I just,” he paused, “I’m not used to this. I never had friends I actually wanted to spend time with. Or who wanted to spend time with me. So I don’t know how to approach it. I like you. And your friends. I just don’t always feel like going out. Some nights I just can’t. It takes a lot out of me, and sometimes, not because of anything to do with you, I’ll just bail. I’m sorry, I know I make a shitty friend.”

When he finally looked her in the eyes, Neil saw Sara had buried her forehead in her palm.

“What’s wrong? Oh god, did I say something wrong again, I’m so sorry I really am fucking bad at this, I told you…” Neil stuttered.

Sara let out a slightly hysterical laugh. “God no, kid. This is just the second fucking time I’ve done this.”

“Done what?”

“Confused being an introvert with someone hating me! Laila did basically the same thing before we started dating. Believe me, it took me some guess and checking to finally figure out the inner workings of dating an introvert, believe me. But I thought I was doing better. I’m sorry Neil, you’re totally fine. I’m just someone who needs things spelled out for me sometimes, you know? Just, when you didn’t come without saying anything, I thought it was because you didn’t care, or you didn’t like me or something.”

“No! God, no. I just stared at my phone so long trying to type a good excuse that I just gave up.”

“No excuses! From here on out, if you don’t want to come, just tell me ‘not tonight’ and I’ll let it go. But seriously,” she had dropped her voice, getting slightly closer, “if you ever need company or socialization but don’t want to go out, feel free to say that too, and I’ll just drag everyone over to yours. Okay? Good. Can I give you a kiss?”

Neil had just blinked, getting the worst whiplash of his life. His first reaction was no, but she had just told him she had no romantic interest in him, so he raised his eyebrows, giving her a confused “Yes?” in response.

Sara had nodded with a smile, planting a giant, exaggerated kiss on his forehead. “Okay bud. Get to work and make some money to pay me with! I’ll text you later, bye!”

From then on, she’d pretty much been the best, most understanding person Neil had ever met. And he went out of his way to send responses to her messages, knowing that he’d get no judgment for whatever he texted back  
So he didn’t usually find himself turning her down for anything that she really wanted, making the fundraiser Friday night not that big of a deal. He still felt this kind of debt for everything she’d done for him. And he knew if it was an event she was organizing herself, Laila would be there and they could probably hide in the corner together for most of the night. Still, it was probably going to be a lot more socializing than he had anticipated for Friday. 

Rubbing a hand across his forehead, he pushed away thoughts of the coming weekend and unlocked the door to his studio. He had songs to write.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Neil gets roped into performing his music, and we finally get some Foxes. More to follow.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The fun thing about Laila and Sara not having any fucking character? You get to make that shit UP. Also I do love Laila more than life in this au so there's that. Also: we finally get to some music this chapter! There's gonna be a lot more to come, but this is a start. I'll list the songs used at the end.

Neil wasn’t exactly nervous for the fundraising event on Friday, but he still felt the need to go to Laila’s before heading over to the venue. He’d sent her about ten different text messages asking what he should wear and what time he should come over and whether he should eat. He hated it when his anxiety manifested like this. He’d survived literally mob wars, he shouldn’t be freaked out by social stuff like this. But his mother had done a good job of impressing the importance of not sticking out, so he was always looking to do the “right” thing. Thankfully, Laila was aware of this particular brand of trauma and was willing to respond at pretty much all hours to his frantic texts.

He’d chosen an outfit Laila had bought him a few months ago, despite his teasing Sara about going with something Jeremy got him. She had a better handle on his more understated taste, and the clothes she chose were actually some of his favorites. He had dark gray, pleated pants belted high on his waist with a dark blue turtleneck tucked in. He didn’t bother throwing any product in his hair on his way out the door; he’d be staying out of sight and out of mind tonight, plus if Laila thought he needed anything, she’d get it for him at her place. She’d been the one to listen to his three am, drunken rant about his real hair color and how much he hated having to dye it. She’d also been the one to go with him when he got it cut down to his growing-in natural roots. The next time he saw her, she had her usually shiny black curls dyed the exact same color. He’d almost burst into tears on the spot. When he’d asked her why she’d done it, she’d just shrugged, telling him she’d always wanted to go auburn. Plus, she’d added, it was the same color as her best friend’s. That did make Neil cry a bit. He still had issues to work out with how he looked, with his scars and his eyes and everything that came along with them, but now his hair didn’t remind him of his father; it reminded him of his best friend.

When he pulled up to her apartment, he felt himself visibly relax. Even Neil, who didn’t really have an eye for real estate or interior design (most of his household items had been chosen from a catalogue, and not by him), Laila had the most gorgeous apartment he’d ever seen. After making it through art school, she’d bought herself an apartment on the top floor of a brand new apartment building. She, unlike Sara, wasn’t a trust fund baby, something Neil had been shocked to find out after seeing her space for the first time. Turns out, despite being a lovely, modern place with spacious apartments, Laila’s building was right next to a massive highway. They had cheaped out on the noise cancellation for the windows, and therefore the whole building was way too loud for most people to deal with for any extended period of time. Laila, however, being almost entirely deaf without her hearing aids in, had no problem with this. During the day, it didn’t make much of a difference for her work, and she slept without her hearing aids in anyway. Sara complained constantly about how she couldn’t move in or sleep over, but Laila usually stayed the night at her place anyway. She’d confessed to Neil that she was planning on moving in with Sara and converting her apartment into a full time workspace one day, not that Sara was aware of these plans. Neil knew she’d be happy to have the extra work room. She had a corner apartment with two sides of it covered in windows with just enough room for a cushy bedroom and an art studio for her work. The studio had floor to ceiling windows for natural light, cabinets full of paint and canvases, and massive stereos on the cool tile floor. Laila worked in oils, and created gorgeous, expressive portraiture paintings that had been selling well from their places in a number of significant galleries in town. Neil even had one. She’d done quite a few pieces featuring him, all of which she’d offered him first dibs on, but the only one he’d accepted was a painting of his hands sitting on his keyboard. It hung in his living room in a prized position as the only thing in his whole apartment that he’d chosen for himself.

On the whole, her apartment was a safe space for Neil. He banged on the door when he got up to the fifth floor, but since there was no answer, he let himself in. Laila had given him a key for emergencies and when she wasn’t answering, since she sometimes turned her phone off and took her hearing aids out at the same time and was thus nearly unreachable. Neil took his shoes off when he entered and saw Laila standing in the kitchen looking through the fridge. He flickered the lights and she turned around giving him a huge grin.

“One second! Let me get my hearing aids,” she called over her shoulder as she shut the fridge and jogged over to her room down the hall.

She’d been teaching him ASL for months now, and Neil, as an avid linguist, was getting pretty good, but when she was trying to do something else with her hands, such as digging through the fridge or getting ready, she’d make sure her hearing aids were in so that she didn’t have to worry about her hands being occupied.

She burst back into the room, and ran over to give Neil a tight hug. She’d been helping him get better at the whole “casual touch” thing, and Neil had to admit she gave pretty fantastic hugs. She’d traded in her usual paint covered overalls for a long, flowy yellow dress with a slit up the side. Her dark hair was pulled back with a surprisingly elegant red headband and she was wearing wedge heels, something Neil was grateful for. When she wore regular heels he sometimes ended up carrying her back from wherever they were out that night, and as much as he loved her, she was taller than him, making it somewhat of an arduous task. Not that he’d ever admit it. One time, he’d been struggling to hoist her up on his back and Jeremy had offered to carry her instead, which Neil had immediately and vehemently refused. He liked Jeremy, but Neil had a feeling this qualified as sacred best friend duties.

Letting him go, Laila dashed back to the fridge, grabbing her giant refillable water bottle and one of the bottles of pomegranate juice she kept in the fridge for Neil, both of which she shoved in the massive brown faux-leather purse slung over her shoulder. She’d used it for ages to smuggle food in and out of bars and movie theaters, and its presence tonight only served to make Neil more and more sure that this whole event was going to be a long endeavor.

“Alright, love, ready to go?” She grinned. “Let’s be social for a few hours and then crash on the couch watching Inkmaster until we pass out.”

Neil huffed a laugh. They’d started watching Inkmaster together before she’d gone with him to get his first tattoo. Laila had a number of traditional tattoos up her arms, and she was covered in swooping birds and bright flowers and falling leaves. Neil had gotten a simple set of black piano keys in the crook of his elbow, and he hadn’t flinched once, something which Laila complimented him on before taking him out for iced coffee. Reality TV was an unusual choice of bonding for them, but given how anxious Neil had been before going to the shop, she’d thought she should prepare him a bit for what was to come. She’d told him in advance that it wasn’t exactly the most accurate depiction of tattoo culture, but at least he’d get a crash course in the art styles and learn how to spot a bad tattoo pretty fast. Her usual shop, of course, was much more laid back, run entirely by women, and fantastic for first tattoos, therefore making it nothing at all like Inkmaster, but the show was fun to watch regardless. Plus, they both had a sick sense of humor and enjoyed laughing when some poor canvas ended up with a truly atrocious tattoo that the judges ripped to shreds.

“Okay. Let’s do it.” He shook out his arms, anxiety buzzing all the way down to his fingertips.

Neil knew as soon as they walked in the door that the bar Sara had booked for this event was clearly a recommendation from Allison; the whole place looked like something from a vintage style catalog. The stage had shiny black floorboards and took up about half of the far wall, directly in the center. Along the sides of the room were circular booths, made for larger parties, and the floor space was littered with bronze tables surrounded by vaguely uncomfortable looking velvet seats. The bar on the far left wall had a mirrored back, and the black-stained wood bar was topped with gray marble.

As they walked in together, Sara practically pounced on them, giving her girlfriend a quick peck on the cheek and Neil a customary enormous hug. When they broke apart she flashed him a grin.

“Glad you could make it. Anyone ever tell you you clean up nice?”

“Yup. Your girlfriend, about ten minutes ago.”

Laila gave a small grin behind him, watching while Sara practically collapsed, howling in front of them.

“Goddamn Neil, the day we introduced you to those jokes was the day we signed our own death warrants. Jesus Christ, I have to tell Jeremy about this.” She gave him a quick pat on the shoulder. “See you around, ladykiller. Socialize! Or don’t, but pay the entrance fee.” She waved over her shoulder as she walked off at the hostess station where there was a woman standing in an all black uniform.

They walked over to be allowed entry to the main area, both pulling out ten bucks for the fee. The bar didn’t usually charge on normal nights, but when they had performers they would put up a cover charge for customers to get in. Sara had been telling him all about how she had worked out a deal where they got a portion of the earnings from the entire bar tonight. Judging by the fairly packed room, Neil imagined they were doing pretty well.

Just as he was about to ask Sara where she wanted to camp out for the evening, he saw a raised hand waving desperately in his direction. He looked over at the back wall to see Allison, half out of the round booth she was sitting at with a giant group of people Neil couldn’t quite make out, a huge smile on her face. Her gold bracelets were jangling wildly around her wrists and the low-cut purple velvet jumpsuit she was wearing was clearly turning some heads from across the room. Neil returned the wave, pointing her out to Sara who returned the gesture as well, even though she clearly hadn’t been the intended target.

When Neil first met Allison, she was an entirely different person. Or, rather, she was in an entirely different place. It was a few months after the highly publicized end of her tempestuous relationship with fellow musician Seth Gordon, and she was feeling his absence sorely. The few photos taken of her after his death showed a completely empty shell of the confident, fierce performer she had been before.

In fact, when she turned up on Neil’s doorstep, she was wearing a wrinkled t-shirt dress, oversized sunglasses, and a ratty baseball cap. She told him much later that the hat had been Seth’s and that she had been wearing it whenever she left the house immediately after his death.

It had taken her a lot to come to Neil. It had been at Thea’s insistence that she’d even gotten in contact with him. In the wake of Seth’s overdose, Allison began spiraling. They had been on a break during that time and Allison, along with a few less scrupulous members of the media, blamed herself for his death. She’d been given time off work, and her agency wasn’t expecting any new music from her any time soon, but once she shrugged off the heaviness of the funeral, she found herself drifting in and out of apathy, simultaneously unable to move on and unwilling to truly grieve. Renee had suggested that she consider doing some writing to help cope; it was something she did as part of her therapy, and she passed the advice onto Allison, with the clear message that it didn’t have to be anything commercial, or even songwriting for that matter, and that it could just be for her to process her emotions and try to come to terms with things.

Allison took this rather to heart, and rather than wallowing in her despair, she turned to obsessively trying to create some “perfect” song out of her sorrow. It seemed like she thought that if she could just write some kind of incredible music, then she’d be simultaneously able to fully process Seth’s death and make her comeback in one fell swoop. Once she started, she tuned out anyone’s advice or suggestions, even the urgings of her agency and her closest friends, and locked herself in her apartment for almost a month. It took Thea practically bursting into her apartment and pulling back her curtains to bring her back to reality. Thea took one look at her and made her get up and go out to lunch, somewhere small and quiet enough that neither of them would get recognized. Once she got a better sense of exactly how deep Allison had gotten into writing this song, Thea realized that the best thing for her might be finishing it and getting some kind of closure on this whole period of her life.

So that’s where Neil came in. Thea had worked with Jean before, and had thus spent some time at Sara’s, where she and Neil became vaguely familiar with each other. They’d never worked together themselves, but between Jeremy and Sara, she had a fairly good grip on the type of music Neil made and his writing process, so she decided to give Allison his email to see if she’d be willing to reach out.

After about a week, she sent Neil a terse email asking if he’d be willing to collaborate on a song together. They emailed back and forth for a few days before finally scheduling a meeting.

Neil, knowing who it was coming to his doorstep, had actually dressed up for this particular meeting, but soon relaxed once he saw that Allison was wearing flip flops that were falling apart at the seams and carrying a hoodie draped over her arm.

Over the next few weeks, Neil slowly, and almost completely by accident, got her to open up. He wasn’t entirely sure how he managed it, but after a few days they moved into his writing room and ended up spending more than a few long nights scrawling in notebooks together and eating crappy pizza. That somehow brought them fairly close as people, as they spent hours trading stories of shitty parents, although Neil filtered his somewhat, and the struggles of the industry, finding that against all odds, they actually had quite a bit in common. Once they reached that point, Allison started really talking to Neil. He’d always been better at transcribing the feelings of others than expressing his own, and once she started spilling the stories of how she and Seth met, their bad patches, their really good patches, and how she watched him start to decline but felt like she couldn’t keep him together, Neil started really writing.

At the end of the next month, he could say he probably knew more true things about her than probably most other people in her life, and that, in the end, they’d created a pretty killer song together. When they parted, Allison gave him a firm hug before leaning back to place one hand on his cheek. Smiling softly, she said “Thanks, kid. I couldn’t have done it without you.”

Neil just looked back at her. “Yes, you could’ve. But it wouldn’t have been the same.”

At that, her smile grew. “See you around Josten.”

Neil could also say that she was the first client he ever told his last name to, fake as it might be.

So he wasn’t exactly unfamiliar with Allison popping in at random times, either with Thea to take Sara out to lunch, or swinging by to pay him a visit with some truly spectacular smoothies in hand. But she seldom came to official functions like this.

Although she and Sara were friends, Allison tended to stick to attending performances arranged by her agency. It wasn’t that she wasn’t allowed to perform elsewhere, but she seemed close with the musicians back at her home studio, and wanted to stick close by. But Sara must’ve finally persuaded her to give them a hand, since she was hastily pushing the friends she was sitting with aside and hurrying over to him, throwing her arms around Neil’s neck casually.  
“Neil! Good to see you. You too Laila, how’s that piece I commissioned coming along?”

Those two chatted for a little while, Neil standing idly next to them. Laila and Allison weren’t the closest friends, but she knew her through Sara, and Allison had always been a huge supporter of Laila’s career. She’d bought tons of her works that were strewn across Allison’s mansion in the hills. At first, Laila had accused her of charity. Allison had just shrugged, saying she got fantastic art out of it and that she could one day say she got a real Dermott for a fraction of its worth. Laila didn’t bring it up again.

After a minute, Allison turned her razor sharp gaze over to Neil. “So, Neil. Sara said there’s an open performance spot.”

Neil tensed. “I already told her I wasn’t going to be doing anything.”

She waved a hand. “Yeah, but you didn’t tell me. I was going to sing something as a favor. Want to be my backup?”

Neil frowned. “You’re actually performing?”

She shrugged. “Thought I might. It’s for a good cause, right? Go ahead and tell her we’re in, would you?”

Neil sighed. That was how Allison was. A bit of a bulldozer, but with good intentions. He shrugged. “Yeah, sure.” What could playing the piano track hurt. Not that he saw even a keyboard on stage. God help him, he’d probably end up having to play guitar at this rate. He was better on the keys, and they were his favorite, but he’d been branching out lately, and his few years on the guitar were nothing to scoff at either.

He walked over to Sara, currently schmoozing with someone by the stage between songs. He tapped her shoulder and she turned, giving him her full attention.

“What’s up babe? Laila boring you already?”

He laughed. “Of course not. Allison wants to sing something and I’m her backup. Is there room for us?”

Her gasp was answer enough. “Oh my god, yes! Yes, yes, yes, absolutely. I think I can fit you in towards the end, the second to last spot is still open.” She was beaming, now completely ignoring the tattooed man she’d been chatting with a second ago. “Go hang out until then. I’ll check with one of the guys performing and see if you can borrow his guitar, okay? I assume you didn’t bring yours.”

Neil rolled his eyes playfully. “It’s a party, Sara. No, I didn’t bring an instrument.”

“No worries. I’ve got it. Go on, have some fun before then. Gah, I’m so excited!”

She gave him a light shove back towards Laila who had taken up residence by the bar. Neil gave Allison a quick thumbs up from across the room, which she quickly returned with a grin.

Maybe this would be fun after all.

______

Almost two hours later Neil found himself being waved over by Sara and instantly regretted every decision that had brought him here. Reluctantly, he made his way over from his spot in the corner with Laila, who graciously grabbed his drink while he walked towards the stage. She knew he was uncomfortable getting open drinks in public, a rule his mother had enforced strongly, and so she always kept unopened bottles of various non-alcoholic things in her fridge, or in the case, her purse, for him when they went out. She took back the juice he’d been working on and shoved it back in her bag, giving him a quick shooing gesture as he went.

And just like that, Neil found himself on a stage for the first time in about two years. The only thing that kept his legs steady as he walked up the small set of stairs to the left was Allison grinning at him as she adjusted her mic stand. Neil grabbed the guitar Sara held out for him, probably from one of the shitty country artists that worked down the hall. Neil just avoided wrinkling his nose in distaste. He didn’t have anything against the genre, but those guys were just crap, no matter what type of music they were making.

He took a seat on the metal stool on stage nonetheless, fiddling hesitantly with the strings, the mic luckily already placed pretty well to pick up the chords from the guitar. After a few seconds, Neil nodded in Allison’s direction, and she turned to face the room, amping up her usual stage presence with a smile.

“Hi guys. My name is Allison Reynolds, and I thought I’d sing something for you tonight. A friend of mine wrote this song with me a little while ago, you might know it. Neil here is going to be playing guitar for me, and he’s actually the representative for tonight’s organization. Say hi Neil.” He gave her a look, begrudgingly waving before turning back to his guitar strings. “Anyways, there’s a box at the front and one by the bar in case you want to throw some more money towards Third Floor Studios, so if you like this one, maybe pay them a visit.”

WIth that, she turned away from her mic a smile. “Ready?”

“As I’ll ever be.”

He struck the first few chords, and was enthralled by Allison right along with the rest of the audience. He never got tired of her voice, and he was lucky that he knew the chords by heart, because he might have just forgotten to play otherwise.

He remembered that night when he and Allison first ended up on the floor of his studio, talking quietly back and forth with each other. After a while, she’d begun telling him about Seth, about how they started together as a casual hookup, but ended up becoming something more. She told him about the the time Seth beat up some guys who slipped something in her drink, and about the time he took her to the cheapest, dirtiest diner in the city and tossed fries in her mouth while she laughed so hard she cried. And then she told him about the drugs, and how angry they made him. About how, no matter how much she begged or threatened or offered to help, he was always fighting something so much bigger than her. How she felt them start to fall apart, and how she eventually had to break things off because of how low he was dragging her down. It wasn’t fair to either of them, but she still loved him. How she watched him break further, how she paid for rehab and made sure he went to meetings and how it still wasn’t enough. How she just kept telling him to last a little longer, and then a little longer than that. And then, she told him, tears slipping down her face unnoticed, he died. She found out through TMZ along with the rest of the world and she’d screamed so loudly she was surprised no one had called the police.

And then the news coverage came. The blame from angry fans who said she’d killed him, that it was her fault. Her own breakdown and the grief she’d been living in. And by the time she’d finished, Neil hadn’t said a word, just reached out a hand. She’d looked over, staring at him for a moment before grabbing it.

The first time she sang it, she couldn’t get through it without crying. Even the final recording that eventually got released to the public was choked with emotion. Now though, sometime afterwards, it sounded stronger. Less of a tragedy and more of a memory.

It still enchanted audiences after all this time though, Neil included. As he played the last note, the room burst into applause, and Neil looked up to see Allison’s eyes shining slightly. It was quickly lost though as she looked over towards a point Neil couldn’t see to her right.

He thought maybe he had an idea who she was looking at, but he wasn’t going to push it yet.

Allison gave him a quick hug, and then they both headed off the stage. As he took the final step, he saw Sara grab his arm frantically.

“Neil! My last performer bailed on me. Took one too many shots at the bar and is passed out in a cab on the way home by now. I would just call it, but we still have another fifteen minutes before the event ends. I know it’s a lot to ask, but could you please, please play something? Just anything, I don’t care if it’s a cover or a ballad or whatever, just fill some time for me? Please?”

Neil tensed like a deer in headlights. Playing the backtrack for someone was one thing. He got the feeling though that he couldn’t keep the audience’s attention by himself with some casual guitar covers though. But Sara looked close to tears in front of him, and he felt a crawling sensation at the back of his neck.

It had been years. The chances of a Moriyama representative being here and shutting him down were next to none. And he hadn’t been the mobster’s son in ages. He took a deep breath.

“Fine. Just this once. And you owe me big time.”

Now Sara was actually crying slightly. “Thank you so much, I love you.” She pressed a quick kiss to his cheek before running up on stage to grab the mic, wiping her face haphazardly as she went.

“Alrighty then, ladies and gentlemen, we have our final performer of the evening. He rarely performs for the public, so give it up for my friend Neil!”

The applause was light, by design. Neil kept his rare in-person performances under his first name to avoid any further pursuance by Moriyama reps, and his song writing, despite the acclaim some of his work had earned, was entirely under his alias, so there was no way for anyone here except his friends to be familiar with him.

He didn’t usually bother with an introduction, but he felt the eyes on him from the crowd. He looked up to see Laila at the bar, giving him the sign for “go.” He gave her a wry smile before adjusting his mic, caving slightly under her watchful gaze.

“Hi, my name is Neil. I’ve been working with Sara’s company for a while now, and she’s finally worn me down to do something like this, so here I am.”

He paused. He didn’t know what he was going to perform. He could always do a cover, but the music he knew best was his own. His fingers seemed to find their place on the strings themselves, and before he knew it they were in place for a song he hadn’t expected. He looked up.

“I wrote this song a few years ago, and I haven’t ever sung it in public before. So, go easy on me, I guess.”

He took a deep breath in, keeping his head bowed towards the guitar in his hands. As Neil started singing, he felt himself taken back to when he’d first written the lyrics. He’d been sitting in his Uncle’s house, listening to him and his mother argue through the walls and had put in his headphones to block them out. He listened to hours and hours of music on his cheap iPod, scrolling through song after song. So many of them were about places in the artist's lives that Neil couldn’t possibly imagine. Love and adventure and even grief that Neil couldn’t possibly recognize. It was then, in his head, that he started toying around with the lyrics. He thought about who he was, where he was, where he wanted to be. More than anything in that moment, he’d wanted to be a real person, with a real life. Far away from the shadow that he was, hiding in this strange room in this strange house in this strange country. Not that he was homesick. Except, he almost was. But for where he might end up, not for where he had come from.

In the present, his voice shook slightly as he sang the words to one of his first songs.

_I don't wanna die or fade away_   
_I just wanna be someone_   
_I just wanna be someone_

__

He felt the words pour out of him. He remembered now, why he’d chosen this path, out of all the options available to him. The world had opened up to him, the crossroads he’d reached stretching out before him, and he’d chosen this. It wasn’t a mistake.

__

_Dive and disappear without a trace_   
_I just wanna be someone_   
_Well, doesn't everyone?_

____ _ _

He’d felt every word of this song so deeply once. He still did, sometimes. When he was sitting out at a restaurant with Jean, Jeremy, Laila, Sara, even Thea or Allison. He’d look at them sometimes and feel so far away from it all. Like they lived in a place so different from where he existed. And then someone would put a hand on his shoulder or tell him a joke he’d heard before and he’d be back there with them. Remembering why he’d stayed.

_I really need somebody to call my own_   
_I wanna be somebody to someone_   
_Someone to you_   
_Someone to you_

______ _ _ _ _

He’d never written this song for someone, or to someone. It had been all for him. And for the future he’d been trying to create out of nothing with his bare hands. Sometimes he forgot that he’d done it. Or, mostly done it.

He finished singing the last lyrics, and the room fell into silence again. It was broken by a loud wolf whistle from the side of the room, coming from vaguely where Allison’s table had been. It didn’t sound much like her though, so Neil brushed the thought aside. Heavy applause broke out, and he gave a humble acknowledgement, placing the guitar carefully on the floor by the stool and brushing his hair out of his eyes, making a beeline towards Laila at the bar.

He needed a drink, even if it was just juice. And more importantly, he wanted to feel his friends around him. That was another reason he avoided performing like that. The stuff he’d written for himself was all much older, and it brought him back to places he’d rather forget. Not that he would prefer to sing the vapid excuses for music he wrote now. With a few notable exceptions, such as his work with Allison.

Speaking of, she grabbed him before he could reach Laila and dragged him over to her corner booth.

“Neil, I have some people for you to meet. You know Renee.”

He did. He gave her a friendly nod, which she returned with a warm smile.

Neil didn’t exactly trust people like Renee. The reason he was comfortable with Allison, Laila, and Sara was that they never failed to say exactly what they meant. They were unapologetically themselves. People were seldom as nice as Renee claimed to be, and with his other friends, he knew right away who they really were because they just told him outright. Renee just wasn’t like that.

But Allison cared about her, and he cared about Allison, so he didn’t make a fuss about it.

There were some other faces he didn’t really know, and whose names he quickly forgot. They were more likely associates of Allison than her real friends. She had a secondary circle of “society” friends that came and went as she pleased, and Neil never really bothered to learn their names.

“And this,” she said, tossing a thumb over her shoulder at the man Neil had seen Sara chatting with earlier, “is my producer, David Wymack. Coach, meet Neil Josten.”

Neil knew the name, of course. He felt stupid for not recognizing him earlier. Wymack, called Coach by his rowdy group of talent for looking more “gym coach” than Hollywood bigwig, was in charge of Foxhole Records, home to a mismatched group of singers and artists who collaborated on songs together and produced albums that, while hardly top twenty material, had a fairly intense group of fans. Neil had known Allison was part of them, but she’d always kept that part of her life fairly separate from her time with Neil and his friends. She’d gone to Neil for outside help with her music, something allowed by her contract, but Neil imagined that introducing her semi-coworkers to the man she’d gone to for help instead of them would have been a bit uncomfortable.

He shook hands with Wymack nonetheless, keeping eye contact despite the impressive height difference between them and Wymack’s fairly intimidating appearance.

“Nice to meet you.”

“You too. Can’t say I’ve heard much about you.”

“I could say the same about you.”

Allison rolled her eyes. “Coach, Neil is the guy who helped me get out of my writing slump. You might know him better as NA. He’s done some pretty impressive work.”

Wymack’s eyebrow raised slightly at that, as Neil turned a betrayed look towards Allison.

“Really Ally?”

“All for good reasons,” she said, throwing her hands up, “Just tell him Coach, or he’s gonna kill me for that.”

Wymack rubbed at his brow. “We’ve been looking to make some additions to our lineup at Foxhole Records, and Allison suggested you. After watching your performance, I’m willing to offer you a contract.”

Neil’s eyes widened, his breath catching slightly. “I’m sorry, I don’t usually do that kind of thing. I made some enemies early on in my career and they tend to make any shot I have at success end fairly poorly, and soon. The only reason I can imagine that you’d even make it this far into offering me something is that they don’t know you’re doing it.”

“Listen kid, I’m no stranger to making enemies of the Moriyamas. And yeah, they know, they’ve already been in contact. I’m not particularly inclined to listen to them. I’ve gotten into way worse with Kevin, and the offer stands.”

Neil just stood there, silently.

“I get it, they’ve probably been putting the pressure on you for a while to sign with them, I’ve seen it before. They have a lot of power in this town. But we’re already pissing them off, so we have literally nothing to lose with you. I’ll send you the contract, look it over and let us know by Monday. It’s a one time offer, kid. But we’d be happy to have you. Think about it.”

He watched Wymack walk off. Allison turned to face him fully.

“I get that this might not be your style. That’s fine. But don’t turn him down over those stupid pricks, alright? We’re tougher than we look, and there’s some people there who would really like to work with you, myself included.”  
Neil tried to give her a hard look, but eventually broke down with a sigh. “I’ll think about it. But seriously, let me make my own decision, okay?”

Her face broke into a massive grin. “Okay, absolutely, whatever you want. Just give us a fair shot.”

His shoulders dropped. “Fine. Nice as this has been, I’m going home to crash on the couch. See you later Allison.”

He stalked off towards the bar, still fuming slightly. He’d trusted Allison with a lot of himself, and despite her good intentions, this felt like somewhat of a betrayal. Or at least a severe manipulation. He wondered bitterly if she’d been responsible for the last performer bailing last minute too, and if she had Sara in on it. If so, the crocodile tears had certainly been something. Sighing, he finally made it to the corner, planting his forehead firmly on Laila’s shoulder, who reached a hand up to smooth down his hair.

“You alright honey?”

He groaned. “Let’s go home.”

She hummed. “Sounds good to me. I’ll text Sara, and then we’re out of here.”

For the first time in a while, Neil was the one getting practically carried to the car. He wasn’t drunk, just exhausted. He was asleep almost before they left the parking lot, and stayed that way until Laila shook his shoulder once they pulled into his apartment complex.

He rubbed at his eyes. “My place?”

She smiled slightly. “Yeah, I figured you’d want to get some sleep. We can catch up on shitty TV later. Go to bed, dumbass.”

He opened his mouth to protest, but was interrupted by a yawn. “Fine. Text me when you get home.”

She looked up at him from the driver’s seat. “Will do. Sleep, now.”

He gave a tired wave over his shoulder, and made for the elevator. He waited until he got a text from Laila and then headed straight for his room. He didn’t even bother changing before he collapsed in bed, and he was asleep before he had time to process what the hell just happened.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The song Allison sings is "Skinny Love," and I based it off this performance (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Snfvkvcj8Yk)
> 
> The song Neil sings is "Someone to You," by BANNERS, and here's a version that I like of it (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Sm72hbk4E0c). Does it give me andreil vibes? Absolutely. Does it fit where Neil is at right now in the au? Unfortunately not. Will it gain new meaning for him in the future once he meets Andrew? Who's to say ;)
> 
> Anyways, I'm on tumblr at back2beesness, come say hi. I can't wait to bring the rest of the Foxes into this, so get hype. Do I have songs for Neil to write for all of them? FUCK yes. All in good time. (Are there about 15 ones just for him and Andrew? I...can't say.)


	3. Into the Deep End

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Neil finally meets the Foxes! (yes, all of them this time) Andrew is also bad at flirting and very obvious, at least to anyone who isn't Neil. And Thea's there too, because why not. Also fuck how she's portrayed in canon. She is completely ooc here and that's because I will be rebuilding her from scratch into someone Kevin can have a healthy relationship with. Not sorry.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is pretty self-explanatory, I think, but I am typing this at 1:30 am so Do Not trust my judgement or my writing at this point. After this, we'll get more into Neil building a relationship with each of the Foxes, and some more music stuff. You know, what this au is actually supposed to be about...anyways...

Neil didn’t wake up until after noon the next morning. Blinking slowly, he thought that this was probably a bad sign, since he didn’t get in that late last night to begin with. But when his anxiety spiked pretty bad it could really wipe him out, something he hadn’t known until embarrassingly recently. No one had really told him that sleeping too much could be a bad sign until he mentioned it in casual conversation to Sara, who’d seemed concerned.

She’d sat him down, telling him a bit about how anxiety and depression can manifest differently for different people, and explained how when she was a teenager she’d spent months falling asleep in school despite getting more than enough rest at night, how she had days when she felt like nothing was ever going to get any better and times when there wasn’t anyone or anything that really brought her joy. She told him about how therapy had saved her life, and how he should consider it, even if he didn’t have anything in particular he wanted to talk about. Neil had refrained from telling her that he had more than enough things to talk about, but that he'd rather never go through the agony of sharing them to begin with. But he’d nodded along anyways, taking a few of the suggestions she gave to heart and deciding to do some research on his laptop when he got home.

And that he did. After pages and pages upon reading into anxiety and depression and PTSD, Neil came to the conclusion that he did, in fact, have a lot of things going on in his head. This wasn’t exactly news. So he glanced over suggestions for dealing with bad days and ignored the parts about talking to a trusted professional and kept going.

So needless to say, he was somewhat frustrated by how late in the day it had gotten by the time he dragged himself into the kitchen. He poured himself some tea absentmindedly while checking his phone. He saw that Sara had texted him a link to a video less than a minute ago, something he didn’t pay much mind to. She had a tendency to send him whatever she thought he’d like whenever she first watched it, so he was used to getting videos of cats pushing items off tables and poorly executed gymnastics fails at three in the morning. 

He’d come to the conclusion, sometime between getting up and checking his messages that Sara really didn’t have it in her to trick him into playing last night, so she was pretty much off the hook. That completely changed when he saw the title of the video she’d sent. It said “Mystery Performer Enthralls Audience.” He clicked on it, panicked, to see a shaky recording of his performance from the night before. His breath caught in his throat, and he felt like his lungs were shutting down. Neil pressed the base of his hand against the space between his ribs, trying to force himself to breath normally, and as he did so his phone vibrated in his hand. Once, then twice, and then three times. He saw Sara was frantically messaging him, having seen that he’d gotten her message, and apparently doing damage control. That was slightly uncharitable. He supposed it was more just her being a good friend.

Sara: im so so so so sorry neil  
Sara: i messaged the person who posted trying to get it taken down im so sorry i never should have asked you to do this i dont deserve you  
Sara: they havent gotten back yet but i’ll let you know when they do i’ll fucking sue them i stg ill fix this

Neil closed his eyes, vaguely trying to practice some breathing technique he’d seen online the other week. It wasn’t really working, but he’d skimmed the article to be fair. He raised shaky fingers to his phone and typed back a quick message.

Neil: It’s not your fault. What’s done is done.

He put their conversation on silent. He’d been thrilled when he figured out he could do that. As much as it infuriated his friends, it sometimes calmed him down to not have to worry about reading people’s responses as they popped up in front of him in real time. Instead of waiting for Sara to respond, he tapped on a different conversation and sent a quick text.

It took Laila about fifteen minutes to get over to Neil’s place. It was more than a ten minute drive, and so Neil assumed she’d left as soon as she'd gotten his message. That particular assessment was confirmed when he saw that she was standing outside of his door wearing rainbow socks, crocs, and a tank top paired with a fairly tiny pair of shorts. He knew she tended to skimp on the air-con at her place when she was working, so she’d probably been painting, trying to keep cool when she’d heard from him. Her hair was haphazardly pulled back, strands falling in her face, and she was carrying an atrociously large bottle of sangria in one hand, which she held up like a peace offering.

Neil didn’t really drink. He’d never really adjusted to the taste except for when it was to consume it in mass quantities for injury healing purposes, so he tended to steer clear regardless of his trauma. But Laila had started him with mostly juice and fruit mixes and started slowly, with his permission, adding red wine in, to the point where Neil, despite still maintaining an ideal combination of more juice than alcohol, actually enjoyed drinking with her from time to time. 

Ironically, his mother had done the same for him with black tea. It was fairly common in British households, particularly more traditional ones, to wean children onto tea by slowly decreasing the ratio of milk to tea so that it was bearable until they were drinking pure black tea. It was certainly how Neil had ended up drinking pretty much anything, dregs of the pot or not. His uncle had once made a joke about the Scotts doing the same with whisky and water. At least Neil thought it was a joke. He could never be entirely sure with Stuart.

So he and Laila crashed on his couch for the rest of the afternoon, cycling between reality TV shows and magazines Laila had brought shoved in her purse, drinking sangria from coffee mugs Neil kept in his cabinet and pointedly ignoring their phones.

That was probably why he missed it when he got an email from one David Wymack that evening with a contract attached.

It wasn’t until they were thoroughly wiped out by their day of lazing around, debating whether they should order something for dinner when Neil finally gave in and checked his email. When he saw the message, his face dropped. It didn’t go unnoticed by Laila, who tapped a chipped nail against his cheek, raising her eyebrows. He looked up and sighed.

“I got an offer last night from David Wymack.”

Her eyebrows shot up even further. “Allison’s boss?”

He shrugged. “Kind of. Also a huge name in music. And so are the people he works with.”

She waved that off. “Yeah, but so are you. A huge name in music, I mean.”

“You know I’m not.”

“You could be.”

“I can’t.”

“Neil, I really try, but sometimes I just don’t get it. I know that the Moriyamas make trouble for you in terms of your career. But these guys are still reaching out, right? So clearly they don’t care. What’s the big deal?”

“The big deal is...I don’t know if I’m ready to be known the way artists like Allison are.”

“But that’s why you came out here in the beginning, isn’t it?”

“I came out here because I love music. And I thought that I could do something with it, and that my only option was to be a performer, like everyone else. I guess I never really thought of it any other way. And I do like performing, it’s just...I can’t help but feel that it’s too risky.”

“I don’t know everything about your past, and I won’t pretend to. But it’s clear that you feel like you’ll be exposing yourself by making yourself a well known figure, right?”

“More or less.”

“Okay, but have you considered that maybe by making yourself well known, you’ll actually be better protected?”

“What do you mean?”

She leaned her head against her knuckles tiredly. “Listen, if you were in serious trouble, like someone took a hit out on you or something, I’d say starting on a career path where you have scheduled appearances and people who stalk you for fun wouldn’t be your best bet.” Neil wanted to laugh. She had no idea how “serious” things had been at one point. Laila continued, unhindered by his odd silence. “But you made it clear that most of what you’re worried about here isn’t exactly the most realistic stuff, it’s more...of a feeling than anything else, right? So maybe by making yourself a public figure, you’d actually be more safe. You’d have security for any shows and it would make someone trying to come after you way harder since you’d be in the limelight a bunch. No one could really come and steal you away in the night, could they? I don’t know, maybe I’m talking out of my ass here, but if you play it right, it could actually help calm some of that anxiety.”

“Yeah, and if people find out more about me? There’s some stuff in my past that I don’t really want being public knowledge Laila.”

“I guess that’s a risk you’re going to have to take. It’s a matter of if this is something you want badly enough that you’d put up with some stuff coming out about you in the press. I know you, Neil.” She reached out, brushing his hair behind his ear lightly. “I know who you are as a person, and nothing in your past can change that. Plus, with your talent, even if people do react badly, your music speaks for itself. You can’t just brush away a gift like that over some gossip rag highlights. But again: it’s up to you. I’m with you either way.”

She leaned her head slightly to her left, tapping his skull against hers where it lay inches from hers on the back of the couch.

He sighed heavily, rearranging his blanket pile. “Yeah. You’re right. And plus, the artists there are…” He broke off.

He knew more about Allison’s colleagues than he’d let on to her in the past. Part of it came with Kevin’s transfer to working with Foxhole Records and Neil’s immediate interest, but the rest of the artists associated with the label were pretty incredible too. Even with his hand broken, Kevin’s guitar skills were fairly impressive, and his powerhouse of a voice remained intact. There was Allison, former pop-diva turned soloist, and her friend Renee Walker, prodigy violinist and indie artist. There was also Dan Wilds, dynamic vocalist, and her longtime partner Matt Boyd, who both had a number of hit songs with their smooth voices and impeccable technique.

Then there were the newest additions. Andrew and Aaron Minyard, twins, and their cousin Nicky. Neil had brushed over Aaron pretty quickly. He was fine, but his voice was just average. Nicky was an interesting addition for his skills with sound mixing and electronic pop hits, but he too had a fairly unremarkable voice, as those in the industry went. 

Andrew was something else. He’d collaborated on songs with Kevin in the past, and the tracks he was featured on were generally considered to rival even what Kevin and Riko had produced in the past. His collaboration with his cousin, Long Way Down, had been in the top ten on the alternative charts for weeks, and his latest single, Believe, was heading the same way.

The only thing that really confused Neil was why he hadn’t produced more music. His cousin and brother had been working at Foxhole for the same amount of time as him and had double the amount of songs, and despite clearly being the most talented of the bunch, Andrew had produced the least music. Neil knew the fans were desperate for more of his work, and it just didn’t make sense, keeping him as an occasional backup singer for the other’s music. But Neil didn’t really share that opinion, although he knew it was widely accepted by the public, since he didn’t really want Allison knowing how much attention he paid to the music of her coworkers. Plus, he sometimes got a bit carried away when it came to talking about music.

In the end, it was the chance to work with all of them that Neil couldn’t turn down. He’d made himself get used to the idea of staying in the shadows, being no one for the rest of his career and then his life. But the fact that there was this incredible group of artists that wanted to work with him as much as he wanted to work for them? That was too much to turn down.

He sent Wymack the contract by Sunday, after much careful examination, and was just shutting off his phone to try and get some sleep when he received a follow-up email asking him to come into the studio on Monday to meet everyone.

He felt his chest tighten slightly. Normally he preferred a bit more warning when it came to major functions like this, particularly functions that could change the rest of his life. But he’d already signed himself over, so he sent back a quick message confirming and rolled over. He’d need the sleep for the next morning.

______

Neil stood outside the doors to Foxhole Records for a good five minutes before he got up the nerve to go inside. He’d messaged Laila the night before telling her what was happening today, so he’d woken up to a number of messages from her, Sara, Jeremy, and even Jean wishing him luck in one form another that he’d read quickly before getting into his car.

The only thing that got him through the front doors was the fact that Allison would be there. At least one familiar face.

Turns out, there were two. As he walked into the lobby, he saw Thea standing with her back to him, deep in conversation with Kevin Day. He froze. Objectively, he knew he’d be interacting with some pretty serious stars here, but it was still a lot to take in.

Kevin glanced at him, frowning when he saw Neil standing by the doors. Seeing his attention stray, Thea turned around to face him. She gave him a smile, beckoning him forward. He winced internally, and made his way over.

“Hey Thea.”

“Hey bud, how’s it going?” She kissed him on the cheek. “What’re you doing here? Sara send you?”

He shook his head. “No actually, I think I’m heading the same way as him.” He gestured vaguely at Kevin, who nodded sharply.

“Allison was supposed to come down to get you, but I thought I’d wait while I was down here.”

Neil swallowed thickly. “Okay. By the way, why are you here Thea?”

She laughed slightly, putting a hand on Kevin’s arm. “Neil, I don't think I’ve introduced you. This is my boyfriend Kevin.”

Neil blinked. “Oh, seriously? That Kevin is...this Kevin?”

She raised an eyebrow. “Problem?”

He hastily shook his head. “No, not at all.” He smiled, looking slightly sheepish. “Just getting some weird context for some of the shit you’ve told Sara.”

She thwacked him lightly on the arm for that particular comment. “Alright, enough from you. I’ve got to go, I have rehearsal in twenty minutes.” 

It made sense, in a way. She was one of the greatest concert cellists in the country, and Kevin was a prodigy in his own genre, so they sort of fit. Neil had first met Thea when Jean had been sampling her playing for a song he was working on, and she’d hit it off with Sara right away. She, Sara, and Allison were a fairly powerful trio, and Neil knew after witnessing them in action, that it was better not to get on their bad sides, let alone garner their collective ire. 

Completely unaware, or uncaring, about the waves of anxiety rolling off of Neil, Thea kissed Kevin before waving over her shoulder and walking briskly out. “Bye, boys.”

That just left Kevin and Neil standing there, staring at each other awkwardly. It seemed like Kevin was trying to size him up and failing at it spectacularly. He completely missed the mark on either intimidating or casual and ended up somewhere weird in the middle, appearing to be essentially ogling Neil in the lobby. Neil shifted uncomfortably.

Finally, he gave a brief nod, and turned on his heel. “Follow me. You’ve got a lot of catching up to do.”

How he could be behind at a job he hadn’t even started yet, Neil had no idea, but he followed Kevin up to the elevators nevertheless, stepping out on the ninth floor. The elevator bank led to a spacious looking room full of couches and a giant tv, with a hallway in the back Neil guessed probably led towards recording or practice spaces.

Sprawled across the couches in front of him were the Foxes, as the press called them, all engaged in various chatter, which was silenced by Neil’s entrance.

Allison was the first one up, throwing an arm around Neil’s shoulders and leading him quickly to the loveseat she’d been sitting on, planting him firmly in the spot next to her and throwing her legs across his lap.

“Hey babe, how’s it going?” She smirked, and Neil felt himself tense under the gaze of the room. He glared slightly at her.

“What? I’m not allowed to be happy you’re here?” She was pouting. Or at least pretending to. Luckily it never really worked on Neil.

He shifted, trying to release some anxious energy. “You're always happy I’m here. I’m examining it for ulterior motives.”

She sighed. “What do you want me to say? I’m sorry for tricking you into landing your dream job.”

That got a raised eyebrow. “How about you’re sorry for blatantly manipulating me and putting me in a situation I was clearly uncomfortable with to gain an outcome you wanted without consulting me at all?”

She heaved a sigh. “Okay. Not my finest moment, I’ll admit it. But you’re here, right?”

“Yeah. I’m here.” Given how quickly she went back to looking pleased with herself, she’d probably missed the heavy subtext of that comment.

Renee piped up softly from her spot on the couch, doing what she always did and softening Allison somewhat. “It’s good to see you again Neil.”

“Good to see you too.” He was trying to be friendly. He might not like her, but he didn’t want to get off on the wrong foot here.

A young woman with close cropped black hair and dark skin leaned over from the couch, reaching a hand out in his direction.

“Hi, I’m Dan. Neil, right?”

“Yeah. Neil.” He shook her proffered hand.

“Great to meet you,” she said with a grin.

The man next to her was practically bouncing up and down in his seat.

“Are you really NA?”

Dan rolled her eyes. “Jesus, Matt. Couldn’t have given him, like, two minutes?”

The man, Matt, grinned sheepishly. “Sorry. But he’s written for fucking Rihanna. Rihanna!” He let out a dreamy sigh, leaning back on the couch. “I mean, god damn that’s cool.” He turned his full attention back to Neil. “Seriously dude, I’m like, thrilled you’re here.”

“Thanks,” Neil responded, slightly unsure what to say. “And I didn’t write for her technically, I wrote something that she picked up.”

Matt shrugged. “Same difference. Plus man, I love that song of Allison’s you wrote with her. It’s my all time favorite of hers.”

Dan slapped his arm lightly. “Hey, what about the ones I’m featured on?”

“Sorry babe. I meant, like, lyrically.”

She nodded, somewhat appeased.

They kept up their bickering in the background, but Neil quickly tuned them out. He shifted uncomfortably, sure he could feel eyes on him from the other side of the room.

On the opposite couch, leaning against the armrest with his legs stretched out on the cushions next to him was one of the Minyards. The other sat on the other end of the couch, arms crossed. Given their heights, even almost entirely laid out on the couch the first twin didn’t take up the entire space. It was likely a passive aggressive move though, given that their cousin was left sitting perched on the other armrest, next to the pissed off looking one.

With a start, Neil realized that it was the first twin who had been staring at him, making eerily direct eye contact. He returned to look, giving a small nod in return. He didn’t want to make any enemies on his first day. The man just tilted his head back, unblinking. Neil looked away first.

Kevin, from where he had been standing behind Neil, made a beeline to the couch.

“Jesus Andrew, move your legs. You’re putting your feet on my spot.”

The man, Andrew, looked up boredly at Kevin, his gaze straying from Neil for the first time since he’d walked in. “Maybe having a place to put my feet is more valuable than your presence at this moment.”

Kevin, clearly used to this by now, just rolled his eyes, but made no move to push him out of the way. Finally, Andrew lifted his legs, never looking away from Kevin, and splayed them out across the floor, leaning his head back in the process like he was preparing for an ill timed nap.

From his place on the armrest, the cousin spoke up. “Hi Neil, I’m Nicky. This is my cousin Aaron,” he said, pointing at the other twin, who didn’t so much as wave or even look up from his phone, “and you already met Kevin. So that’s everybody! We’re so excited you’re here, we watched your video from the other night. You’re totally awesome, how come you haven’t been picked up by anyone yet? Professionally, I mean,” he added, with a wink.

Neil glanced first at Allison, who was meticulously peeling off her manicure next to him like he knew she did when she was bored of the color. She shrugged, seeming to say “What do you have to lose?”

Neil glanced at Kevin quickly, and then back to Nicky. “I was actually. Or almost. I got offered a contract from the Moriyamas, but I turned it down. I pretty much got blacklisted after that.”

Nicky nodded, slightly impressed, as understanding dawned on his face. “Yeah, makes sense. They don’t really like to be told no. But Wymack’s always been a crazy son of a bitch, I guess. What have you been doing since then?” Neil figured he probably knew, given Matt’s comments from earlier, but it seemed like pretty standard small talk so Neil wasn’t too bothered.

He raised a shoulder nervously. “Ghost writing for the most part. That’s how I met Allison. Well, we were co-writing.”

Matt raised an eyebrow at that. “Aren’t they like, almost the same thing?” he piped up from across the coffee table.

Neil shook his head. “No. I actually get together to work with the artists that I co-write with, and we produce something together.. Ghost writing is all me. But I don’t put my real name on either.”

Matt nodded thoughtfully. “Yeah, makes sense.” He sat up slightly, clearly getting more invested in the conversation, or maybe just trying to fulfill his curiosity about their newest addition. “Don’t you miss writing for yourself, though? Or is the stuff you do for other artists pretty much the same thing?”

Neil frowned. “Not at all actually. I write what they pay me to write, not what I want to write for me.”

Nicky grinned widely. “Hey, maybe we can change that. Get you back to writing for yourself again.”

Neil swallowed, faking a small smile. “Yeah, maybe.” He didn’t want to talk about how exposed he felt writing any of what he really felt into his music. It could be...too much at times. Too much honesty for him, let alone for the public. His far off expression clearly didn’t go unnoticed by Andrew though, who had turned against to look at him for that comment, and Neil faced him, meeting his gaze evenly.

Allison, seeing his expression, poked him slightly with her nail, drawing his attention by checking in on him in her own way. He gave her a barely perceptible nod in return, just as one of the doors down the hall swung open.

Wymack came lumbering in, looking incredibly underdressed given that this was his day job, and stood by the end of the table top, facing all of them.

“Okay, listen up fuckers.”

Neil blinked.

“We’ve all met Neil, yes? He was hard to get and better than most of you, so nobody scare him off.” He directed a pointed look towards Andrew’s place on the couch, which was firmly ignored. He cleared his throat. “Down to business. Dan’s last song was a pretty big hit, so we’re riding that publicity wave right now, but I’d appreciate it if we could have some followup is store. And Andrew, for god’s sake, actually try to record something this month, or else what the fuck am I paying you for.”

Andrew had his head leaned almost all the way over the back of the sofa, and didn’t look up as he responded, “You don’t pay me. I get royalties.”

Wymack sighed heavily. “Yeah, but I can fucking kick you out of my studio any time I want.”

Andrew looked up at that, trying to raise his head with some difficulty, eventually just giving up and rolling it to the side. “And I still get my royalties. It’s in the contract.”

Neil actually already knew that. That was, assuming they’d signed the same contract. Neil’s had laid out pretty explicitly that he got to keep the rights to his music and could leave at any time, taking his songs with him. It was extraordinarily generous, and the exact opposite of the shit the Moriyamas had tried to pull, even insofar as how easy to understand it was. It clearly hadn’t been written to trick him. That clause, however, was one of the main reasons he felt comfortable working with the Foxes. If he decided at any point that he wanted to leave, he could, no problem.

But Wymack just snorted at Andrew, either unbothered by or used to being called out like this. “As if you can read.”

Andrew swiftly went back to ignoring him, seeming bored with the descent into insults. Given the sharp look he’d been giving Neil earlier though, Neil had no doubt he’d win that particular battle should he choose to engage.

“Anyway,” Wymack continued, “I don’t really give a fuck what you do or where you go, as long as all of you are working on your next release. Or even something that never ends up getting released. You know the drill, it all counts, blah blah blah. Just don’t sit on your asses. Go to Neil if you’re stuck, God knows we could use some fresh blood. I’ll be in my office with the door shut pretending none of you exist.”

He didn’t so much as pause for questions as he headed back through the door he came through, leaving them all exactly as he’d left them.

Neil blinked, a little shell shocked.

Allison grinned sharply next to him. “Welcome to the family, kid.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The songs that are referenced this chapter are Long Way Down by Robert DeLong and Believe by The Bravery, which are two of my biggest Andrew songs. But where we pick up with his and Neil's stories is slightly lighter then canon, so unfortunately they don't make sense for future chapters. But I still wanted to include them soooo...
> 
> Andrew in this chapter: maybe if i just stare at him something will happen  
> Neil in this chapter: clearly something is Very Wrong and He Hates Me
> 
> Next up: Nicky! Or maybe Matt...I haven't decided yet.
> 
> Chapter title is from Deep End by Ruelle, also a good tfc song. Mostly Neil.


	4. Heart's Mistaken

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Neil works with Nicky on a new song. He also gets an invite he can't turn down and is somehow making every Fox fall in love with him one by one without even trying.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay on this chapter, I moved into college and did orientation and started classes so things are wack over here atm. But enjoy! I know this chapter is shorter than usual, but at least it's something.  
> TW: mentions of homophobia and conversion therapy

It was actually Nicky who grabbed Neil first, as Matt looked on with a vaguely heartbroken expression. Dan amusedly patted his shoulder next to him.

Nicky, despite the substantial height difference he had on Neil, got right up in his face, smile flashing. “So, Neil! I was hoping to get your help with a song I was working on.”

Neil nodded. This was what he was good at. “Sure. Want to show me what you’ve got?”

Nicky grinned wickedly. “Do I ever.”

Neil just blinked.

Nicky sighed. “Fine, yes. Let’s go into one of the practice rooms and I’ll show you what I’ve put together so far.”

Neil knew enough about Nicky’s work in the past to know that he probably wouldn’t have to worry much about the beat or arrangement for this song, so he grabbed the notebook he’d brought with him so he could work on lyrics and his phone to record melody ideas.

Turned out, Nicky was much less far along than Neil had imagined. So, they crashed in one of the rehearsal rooms, sprawled across the plushy orange couches. Nicky sighed heavily and pulled out his notes, laptop, and assorted sheet music before turning back to Neil.

He smiled, settling into his chair. “So.”

Neil looked back passively. “So.”

They sat there for a moment. 

“Do you have a concept?” Neil prompted finally.

“Oh, yeah! Sorry about that, I’m not super used to working with people on this part.” He looked sheepish.

Neil waved him off. “That’s fine. If you’d prefer we can split the work, you can let me take care of, say, the lyrics and basic chorus and verse structure, and you can deal with more of the production and recording elements.”

Nicky nodded. “Yeah, that sounds good.”

They sat in silence for a few moments.

Neil raised an eyebrow. “So, concept.”

Nicky tilted his head slightly. “Well, I’ve been doing a lot of dance hits recently that have been doing pretty well.”

“But that’s not what you want me to make, is it?”

Nicky shook his head, seeming to relax, his shoulders dropping slightly. “Not quite. I mean, anything that I record and mix usually ends up sounding, you know, pop-y, but I don’t really want this one to be, like, a club banger or anything.”  
Neil nodded intently. “So maybe, deeper lyrics with a pop sound, more Hayley Williams?”

Nicky’s grin widened impossibly. “Man, After Laughter is like my favorite album.”

Neil looked skeptical. “Not your own stuff?”

He laughed. “God no, I can’t stand listening to my own music unless it's been remixed out of its mind past the point of recognition.”

Neil sighed. “Yeah, I get that.”

Nicky nodded. “Yeah. Matt told me that it's pretty sad, that I hate the sound of my own voice.” He wrinkled his nose. “I don’t know, I just never really felt like I was talented, you know? I had a lot of people tell me I wasn’t. And then when someone told me I was...I didn’t know how to believe them.” He smiled sadly. “But I guess they’re paying more for something, right?”

Neil tilted his head, perplexed. “Of course they are.”

Nicky flashed him a softer, more genuine smile. “Okay. Let’s make some magic, music man.”

______

Neil spent about a week working with Nicky on and off. He saw the rest of the Foxes, sure, but he mostly just interacted with Nicky. They’d talk, Neil would write some things, they’d discuss it, then they’d go home for the night. At that point, inspiration would randomly strike Neil and he’d rush back in the next morning having totally reconfigured things. But despite this chaotic schedule, it didn’t take them too long to reach a product they were both happy with.

Neil knew that song writing was a personal process, but he was much more used to either vague descriptions of personal issues from employers or more of the Allison vibe, wherein she had a lot going on, but wasn’t willing to share it without a lot of time and trust. Nicky, on the other hand, was firmly the opposite. While Allison wore her walls around her like armor, Nicky wore his trauma on his sleeve, happy to share it with people, not for attention or sympathy but as sort of an example. At least that was how he explained it to Neil.

He told Neil all about his parents and his strict Christian upbringing, about how coming out to himself had been the hardest thing he ever had to do, nevermind telling his parents. He explained how he was sent off to conversion therapy, but didn’t go too into detail about his time there. But Neil recognized the faraway look in his eyes. He saw it when he looked in the mirror too long.

Now he was living out and proud in LA with his husband of two years, Eric, and told Neil he’d never been happier. Neil believed him, looking on with wonder at the light in Nicky’s eyes when he talked about Eric. He wondered if he had that look when he talked about his friends. When Neil asked him, partially out of awe, how he was so willing to share what he’d been through with the world, Nicky had paused, searching for the words to explain what seemed so second nature to him.   
He’d finally told Neil, “When it comes down to it, if there’s someone out there who can take something from what I went through, who am I to keep it from them? Like, I love being a symbol of hope and pride and all that, but I think it’s more important to me to show queer kids that even if things are at the worst they can be, it get better, you know? That I didn’t always live like this, that I wasn’t always this happy. And I’ve gotten more than enough fan mail that sent me into tears to convince me that there are some people out there who are benefiting from hearing my story. So I’m not going to make it, like, the only thing about me I ever share, but I’m also not going to keep it from people.”

Neil nodded, but didn’t really get it. He couldn’t imagine anyone taking comfort from his story. Look folks, you can go from the son of a mobster to an anxious young adult constantly hiding in paralyzed fear from himself and his past who sometimes makes some music! 

But in the end, Nicky was good at explaining how he felt and how he wanted to phrase or express certain things in the music, which Neil really appreciated. When he mentioned it to Nicky, he’d laughed and told him that it was the years of therapy, which Neil wasn’t really sure if he was supposed to laugh at.

By the end of the week, they had a song Neil could honestly say he was pretty proud of. And the first time Nicky listened to it all the way through he’d cried, which Neil thought was probably a good sign. 

To celebrate what Nicky called his most productive week in months, he invited Neil out on Friday night. Since his group chat with Laila, Jeremy, and Sara had been fairly quiet for the past few days, he agreed, and told Nicky he’d come out with them after work.

Neil had presumed that the rest of the Foxes would be in attendance, but when he walked into the common area on Friday evening he saw that it was just Kevin, Nicky, Andrew, and Aaron that were left waiting for him.

Nicky was holding a bag hanging haphazardly off his hand, elbow propped up on his hip, clearly waiting for him.

“Hey,” Neil said, feeling increasingly uneasily.

“Hey! We have some clothes for you.”

Neil frowned, confused on so many levels. “We?” He stopped. “And I have clothes.”

Nicky rolled his eyes playfully. “Andrew dresses like he’s a bouncer most days but he knows regular clubwear pretty well. And Neil? I love you and all, and for the most part you dress pretty well, but I asked Allison if you had anything for Eden’s and she almost burst a blood vessel laughing.”

Neil just felt more confused. Not about Allison’s reaction, that felt pretty true to character. It was more that the idea that Andrew of all people, who he’d never even introduced himself to, would be picking an outfit for him was jarring. It was an odd juxtaposition, like seeing a wild badger wearing a tutu.

He blinked. “Okay, I guess. I’m not really a club person though.”

Nicky pouted. “You promised! Besides, it’ll be fun. We’ll get super drunk and probably end up with pictures of us passed out in the street in the tabloids. You know, a regular Friday night.”

Neil frowned deeper. “Why on Earth would I want that.”

Nicky just pushed the bags into his hands and Neil trudged dutifully off to the bathroom to get changed. He glanced in Andrew’s direction on his way by, but seeing him staring back he quickly turned away. It was going to be a weird night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The song Nicky and Neil make is Heaven by Troye Sivan, since it's always been a song I thought of for Nicky. That is also where the chapter title is from. Next up: Eden's. Not gonna go how you think it will.
> 
> I'm on tumblr at back2beesness, come say hi!


	5. Rearrange With You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Neil gives in to peer pressure, and doesn't have a great time. Andrew tries and fails to act uninterested in Neil's whole deal, even when he's being a total mess. This is obvious to everyone except Neil.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys, guess who's back. This is another short chapter, sorry about that. Things are a bit wild rn.  
> TWs: drinking, pressure to drink, mentions of gun violence, descriptions of gunshot wound, panic attacks

Neil knew that he was going to hate Eden’s Twilight the moment he saw it. It was the type of place he avoided like the plague in LA. Loud, dark, smoky, crowded. Between the look of the place and the clothes Neil was wearing, he was fairly sure this was what the final circle of hell was like. He fidgeted with the high collar of the navy blue shirt he was wearing. It was a cross between a chef’s top, with diagonal buttons, and a blouse, flowy and soft like something he’d see Laila or Jean wear on the weekends. Combined with the skin tight, ripped and patched black jeans, he felt a bit like the models he saw lining billboards around the city. But taking a look at the crowd lined up outside the door, he was glad he’d finally put on the proffered outfit. He wouldn’t have lasted ten minutes here in what he was wearing before. Or, at least, most people wouldn’t have.

Looking over at the clubgoers, he got the feeling that Sara might hang out here, and probably Jean too, since it was his home turf as a DJ. Laila could probably be dragged out as well, and Jeremy too if Jean was going, even though he was more of a “cold beer on the beach” type of guy. But Neil avoided them at all costs.

He had bad memories of places like this. Neil had gotten shot in a club once. His mother had been trying to meet with one of her contacts and had dragged him along, head kept down, hoodie up, hiding his teenage face, not that anyone would stop his mother with the expression she kept on around strangers. And around him, most of the time.

It had been a stupid plan from the beginning though. Out in the open like that. Not to mention, they hadn’t quite figured out yet that as much money as his mom could offer, she could never buy loyalty. And any contacts she had from her family were years old, so some of them just fell through, or refused to meet with them.

It should have been a bad sign that this one had agreed to provide them with their identification so easily. But they’d been desperate and scared, and his mother had decided to go, hand firmly clenched in his shirt, dragging him through the crowd.

It had been a set up. Because of course it was. His father’s men had them surrounded before they made it twenty feet, and they’d had to run, pushing through bodies left and right, getting jostled as they tried to escape. They’d made it to the back alleyway and were almost off when their pursuers caught up. There was a volley of shots and Neil felt everything go into slow motion. His mother was already around the corner, hauling him bodily with her, but he didn’t quite make it in time to avoid catching a bullet in the back. 

The next few hours were a blur of engines revving, frantic pursuit, and eventually, once they were relatively safe, pulling over into a highway rest stop. Then he was swallowing down gin like water and clenching his jaw so tight he thought it would explode as his mother worked the bullet out of his flesh, tweezers moving in and out of his muscle before the needle and floss took its place.

He nearly jumped when Nicky waved a hand a bit too close to his face, bringing him back to the present.

“Hello? Earth to Neil?”

Neil blinked, averting his eyes. “Yeah. Sorry.” He saw that the rest of them were waiting on the sidewalk, staring back at him. “I’m fine.”

Nicky smiled hesitantly. “Okay, let me know if you need anything though. Let’s get you something to drink.” As he walked towards the group, Neil heard him turn quizzically to Aaron and Andrew, asking quietly in German, “Did you guys see that, or am I reading too much into things?”

Aaron flashed a look at Neil. “No. That was weird,” he responded, in the same language.

Andrew just kept walking. “Leave it,” he barked, in his odd, accented German.

Nicky shrugged, addressing Neil’s questioning look in English. “Sorry, parking details. I forget what language I’m speaking sometimes.”

Neil nodded, not buying it for a second.

As soon as they stepped in the doors, Aaron nodding in the direction of the bouncer, who gave him a nod back, Neil felt his chest tighten. But he promised Nicky he’d come, and he didn’t want to come across as even weirder in front of his new colleagues.

So he took a deep breath, and focused on Andrew’s back in front of him, as he pushed his way through the crowd, unflinching against the occasional press of drunken strangers.

By the time they got settled at their spot, a huge tray of drinks unloaded on the tabletop, Neil was fighting back a panic attack.

Nicky shot him an odd look, frowning despite the drink in his hand. “Are you doing okay?”

Neil blinked, trying to focus through the noise and the haze of his memories. “Yeah. Sorry, I’m fine.”

He thought he heard Andrew snort from across the table but it was hard to hear anything with the bass vibrating through the room like a thunder clap.

Nicky shrugged. “Okay, suit yourself. Let me know if you need to head out for some air or anything.”

Neil nodded, clutching at his soda, knowing that there was no way he was going to do that. He’d been invited here as a guest. Plus, he was pretty sure that they were buying his drinks, alcoholic or not, so it felt rude to try and sneak out right off the bat.

Aaron turned, peering down his nose at Neil’s glass. “Why aren’t you drinking?”

Nicky rolled his eyes, looking annoyed but not surprised. “Jesus Aaron, let him be. Not everyone has to get piss drunk every night to have fun.”

Aaron raised an eyebrow. “Yeah, because he looks like he’s the type to have lots of fun. Plus, weren’t you the one saying something about passing out in the gutter earlier?”

Nicky shrugged. “It was a suggestion, not an order. I don’t speak for y’all. But Neil, you should have at least one shot with us. You’ll be sober in like, twenty minutes.”

Neil hunched his shoulders slightly and choked back more of his Sprite. He hated soda, but Nicky had been pretty insistent on getting him something to drink. He had a better tolerance for alcohol than he had for sugar anyways, and maybe if he joined them he wouldn’t have to finish his soda.

Andrew was casting a look Nicky’s way that spoke of violence, and he was opening his mouth to say something when Neil nodded.

“Fine. Just one.”

Nicky pumped his fist. “Hell yeah, man! On three.”

As Nicky counted down, Neil took a deep breath. He knew he was a bit of a people pleaser sometimes. When someone got in his way or pulled some major bullshit, he was more than willing to rip them a new one, but with people like Nicky, people who were just nice, he didn’t really know how else to respond. He hadn’t exactly been raised in a normal, healthy social environment. So his usual move was just to go along with whatever they asked of him. Laila had taken a few months to figure out that he had way more opinions than he let on, but once she did, she never stopped demanding to know what he really thought about things. There was a point when he would go out to eat wherever they suggested, tell them that whatever their plans were sounded good to him, respond that every movie they watched was good. Laila had to coax every opinion out of him. Once she found out that Mexican food was his favorite, they got tacos at least every week. When he mentioned his favorite color was grey, she bought him a sweater in that color the next day. She always made sure to ask him his real opinion on the latest blockbuster or shitty indie film they watched, and she was slowly learning and absorbing the preferences he shared with her like they were gospel.

But Nicky was more of an acquaintance, or at least a new friend, so he didn’t really feel that level of comfort around him yet. So he downed his shot, wincing slightly and the familiar burn, catching Andrew’s eye as he put down his glass. His expression looked empty, but there was a wrinkle by the edge of his downturned mouth that suggested some kind of displeasure. Neil was about to turn away, the taste of liquor still lingering in his mouth and his memory, when a hand came down hard on his shoulder. He stood up quickly, his stool knocking backwards. In one swift motion, he had the person’s arm in a quick hold, wrist twisted just shy of real injury.

“What the fuck?” Neil felt far away. He tensed to run, someone had to have finally found him. Who was it? He couldn’t tell. There was yelling by his ear.

The alcohol was heavy in his throat. He felt his bullet scar almost pulse along with the music, the crush of bodies around him pushing his breath rapidly towards hyperventilation.

“Neil.”

He blinked, squeezing his eyes shut.

“Neil. Look at me.”

He opened his eyes. Andrew was standing in front of him, hand hovering centimeters above his, which was clenched firmly around Nicky’s wrist. He looked up to see Nicky’s pained expression, and he dropped his arm, panicked.

“Oh my god. I’m-” His breath was short. “I’m so sorry.”

“Neil-” Nicky started, reaching out.

Neil flinched. “I-I have to go.”

Turning on his heel, he bolted for the exit, pushing through the drunken, dancing masses and into the cool night air. He shut his eyes, trying to slow his pulse, and dug through the pockets of his too tight pants for his phone.

He dialed almost on instinct, the number tucked safely in his memory. He didn’t trust important contacts to always be on his phone. He’d seen too many people accidentally delete a number or lose a phone to risk that.

Laila picked up after the first ring. “Hey babe, what’s up?”

His breathing was still labored, but he choked out, “Can you come pick me up?”

Her voice turned hard. “Where are you?”

He told her the club name and the street, and, after hanging up with her reassurances of a hastily arrival, sat down on the curb by the back alley and put his head between his knees. He clasped his hands behind his neck and focused on breathing.  
He’d almost managed to calm himself down when he saw two black boots stop right in front of him. He looked up to see Andrew, and, in his semi-hysteria, almost laughed. Nicky was right. He did dress like a bouncer. The all-black ensemble, paired with a waistcoat that Neil knew from his experience with Jeremy probably cost more than Neil’s phone, made him cut a striking figure, in spite of the flashier patrons inside the club and lined up outside.

Neil looked away first, staring down at the cement. He broke the silence. “Is Nicky alright?”

Andrew pulled a pack of cigarettes out from his right pocket, searching the other for what Neil could only assume was a lighter. After watching him struggle for a few more seconds, Neil pulled his out of his back pocket and tossed it to him.

“Here.”

Andrew looked down at him but didn’t ask, lighting up in silence. It wasn’t until he’d taken a few drags that he turned back to Neil.

“He’s fine. Slightly upset.”

Neil closed his eyes, sighing. “Yeah, I can imagine. I tend to have that effect on people.”

Andrew looked up at the cloud-cover, midnight sky. “Not you. He’s upset he made you uncomfortable.”

Neil frowned, confused. “I’m fine.”

Andrew raised an eyebrow.

Neil shook his head. “Or I will be.”

Andrew shrugged. “Whatever you say.”

Neil sighed. “It’s not about him anyways.”

Andrew didn’t ask for any explanation, so they sat in silence a while longer. Andrew smoked like a chimney while Neil sat below him, trying and probably failing to subtly inhale the scent.

It wasn’t too long until Laila pulled up in her Honda, tires screeching. She didn’t even seem to stop the car before she leapt out, making a beeline for Neil.

She placed her hands carefully on either side of his face. “Are you okay?”

Neil nodded.

She frowned. “I’m gonna need some verbal confirmation there, honey.”

He left out a deep breath. “Yes. I’m fine.”

She sniffed slightly. “Have you been drinking?”

Neil looked off to the side, avoiding her gaze.

She just sounded sad when she sighed, “Oh Neil.”

He shook his head. “I’m fine. It’s fine.”

“How many times do I have to tell you Neil, if you don’t want to do it, don’t do it. It doesn’t matter what other people want, or expect of you. Fuck them. I know you hate drinking. You know you hate drinking. Not everyone is going to know that, and you have to stand up for yourself when there’s no one around to hold you accountable, okay?” 

He nodded, and she visibly relaxed. “Okay. How are you really?”

Neil slumped forwards, resting his forehead on her shoulder as she rubbed his back. “Not great.”

She huffed a laugh on the back of his neck. “Yeah, that tracks. Let’s get you home. Go hop in the car, you can stay in the guest room tonight.”

He nodded, exhausted, and hauled himself to his feet. He turned to see Andrew, still standing on the sidewalk. He gave him a nod, and headed for the car.

Once he buckled himself in, head leaning against the window, he saw that Laila hadn’t joined him. She seemed to be exchanging some words with Andrew, who was still standing on the sidewalk, gazing passively back at her. He went to open the door and step in, but Laila was already turning away, marching back to the car.

When she got in, he turned in his seat to face her. “What was that about?”

She put on her seatbelt, adjusting the seat. “Nothing.”

He frowned. “Laila.”

She sighed. “Just told him not to pull that shit again.”

He felt his chest seize. “It wasn’t his fault, please tell me you didn’t go full, raging Mama Bear on him.”

She threw him a wry look, shifting into drive and pulling out of the lot. “No. But if anything like this ever happens again, I will not hold be holding back.”

Neil let a huff of air out through his nose. “I don’t doubt it.”

She turned the dial on the dash to the spa channel, letting the quiet instrumentals wash over them. Neil could just see Andrew shrinking in distance through his rearview mirror. Once Andrew had disappeared behind them, the combination of quiet music and Laila’s soft humming worked quickly in lulling Neil to sleep, and he drifted off with the smell of smoke still clinging to him like perfume.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The chapter title is from Bottom of the Deep Blue Sea by Missio.  
> I'm on tumblr at back2beesness. None of my content is quality, but come say hi anyway.

**Author's Note:**

> I love Laila and Alvarez, and they deserve the world. I promise we'll get some Foxes in the next chapter, and Neil's past will be explained in the AU in the future! We'll also spend some more time on Laila because I love her in this universe, so look forward to her because she's incredible. I'm on tumblr at back2beesness, so come say hi if you feel like it, or ask my about my WIPs because my drafts are fucking insane at this point. (chapter title is from carry the weight by morgxn)


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